


Sweat & Margaritas

by anonstarbuck



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M, First Time, RST, UST
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-15
Updated: 2016-06-25
Packaged: 2018-06-08 15:36:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6861016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anonstarbuck/pseuds/anonstarbuck
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It wasn't an x file, so he's getting them drinks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

There’s sweat on his upper lip and on the glass where his margarita is already ¾ gone. She has sweat trickling between her breasts and he’s pretending not to notice. Her margarita glass bears lipstick stains but is otherwise devoid of any content, unlike their conversation, which is quickly becoming a battle of wits. 

“Remind me again why I agreed to come here with you?” Scully groans while she lifts the glass to her lips only to remember that its empty. It’s hotter than hell, and the salt and tequila are doing nothing to quench it. Neither is the sight of Mulder with his shirt-sleeves rolled up and top buttons undone. 

Mulder cricks his neck. “Because this wasn’t an X-File and you’re feeling sorry for my sorry ass, so you’re being a good partner and joining me while I drown my sorrows in cheap tequila and my own sweat. Also, ever the practical one, you were aware that this bar is the only place that’s walking distance from our motel.” he retorts while finishing his drink and signalling the bartender for two more. 

“Mulder,” she grumbles while surreptitiously blowing air down her shirt through a pursed upper lip, “you’re the one that picked the place. And you didn’t even ask me what I wanted. You just went ahead and got us margaritas.”

His eyes stray towards the swell of her chest, where tiny little goosebumps have formed from her breath. “The house wine won’t cut it this time, Scully. Candy is dandy but liquor is quicker.” he grins, quoting Willy Wonka. 

She quirks an eyebrow and sighs. “And somehow I ended up with the golden ticket.” As the bartender sets the drinks in front of them, Mulder clinks his glass against hers. “You have indeed, partner.”

Mulder stares as her tongue slides out of her mouth to slowly lick away part of the salt rimming her glass, and takes a sip.   
“Do you know where the margaritas came from?” he asks knowingly. Scully tries to keep a straight face as she points a well-manicured fingernail at the bartender’s blender. Mulder in turn tries to not laugh and says “You know what I mean, smart-ass.” and licks the salt and sweat that are pooling over the hairpin curve of his upper lip. 

“Mexico. Some man or another claiming to have named it after a woman named Margarita.” she guesses, while watching the muscle and sinew of his forearms as he squeezes his glass. “Margarita being the equivalent in spanish for Daisy.”

“Jesus, Scully. Don’t you get tired of knowing everything?” he shifts his long legs and she looks down at the floor. They’ve been sitting at the bar and they moved around in their stools until they were facing each other. Her legs are crossed, and now, somehow, she’s trapped between the spans of his legs. If she tries to shift she’ll have to graze his groin with her knee. 

She blushes, embarrassed at the question and at his proximity. “I don’t, Mulder. I really don’t. There’s a myriad of things that I don’t know.” she utters and her mouth feels heavy with the admission, the alcohol and the overwhelming urge she has to kiss him and taste the salt in his mouth. Taste the salt of him anywhere. 

He closes his eyes and shakes his head gently. “Hold that thought, partner. That’s a conversation that we’ll need to investigate empirically later, when we’re back in the motel room. Now, I just want to play a drinking game with you.”

“Oh?” she bites her lip.

“Did you ever play with daisies growing up?” He makes the question as a statement. With the same breathy monotone he once used to ask her whether she believed in the existence of extraterrestrials. 

Her breath catches as she squeezes her thighs tighter together. She thinks back to hot summer days when she and Melissa would lay bare-legged and freckled on the grass, daisy petals fluttering around them after using the flowers to prophesy whether a boy loved them or not, loved them, or not, loved, not.

“I did.” she whispers simply.

Mulder picks up his drink and catches her eye, holding her gaze in place. There’s a glitter in them that is part alcohol, yes, but part something else. She’d seen it once in the hallway outside his apartment, before he’d leaned in and she’d blacked out and woken up at the end of the world, weak and freezing in his arms. 

He takes a long hard drink from his margarita and says “She loves me” and waits.

Tremulously she drinks and says “She loves me not.” 

Suddenly, she is not just sweating between her breasts. Her back feels soaked and her thighs are slick and slippery. She knows him well enough to know where he is going with this. The outcome depends on how much tequila the other is willing to put in their mouths. Like everything, it is down to their timing.

His next drink is smaller. “She loves me.”

She opens her throat and looks at the way his neck bobs when he swallows.

She swigs. “He loves me not” and through the haze of tequila does not notice what she’s just said, her change in pronoun, and finishes her drink.

His lips part slightly as he inhales. His eyelashes flutter as he blinks quickly, his breathing harsh. He finishes his margarita, sets down his glass and lowers his hand to place it firmly on her knee. 

“He loves you.” he finishes.

Her eyes widen when she realises her previous mistake but before she gets the first syllable of Mul-der out, he’s kissing her mid-L, and her tongue, salty and ever ready, is poised to kiss back.


	2. Chapter 2

He squeezes her knee when he breaks the kiss. “Here’s what I know,” he says while he tips her chin gently upwards to meet his gaze. Her face is warm and flushed and she thinks back to the time he grabbed her by the collar, pulled her back and yanked the back of her shirt down to look at her neck and back. The touch had been rough, probing and strangely sexual. She had thought about it afterwards, more often than not at nighttime.

This touch is its opposite, and yet sparks the same jolt of desire. She stares wide-eyed at his composure. He looks like the spirit of composure, his expression soft, his fingers gently kneading her knee.

Her insides are screaming.

Her eyes flicker towards his lower lip which is glistening, no longer with sweat, but rather with the remnants of moisture from when she had surprised herself and used her tongue. Mulder clears his throat and mumbles movingly in his usual monotone. She has fallen asleep countless times cradling a phone while speaking to him, holding his cadence against her ear, matching it with her breath. 

His thumb strokes her slowly and he uses his other hand to tilt her chin to meet his eyes. “I know I pushed you towards drinking tequila rather than your usual beer or glass of wine and that I’m not sorry for this. I also know that we’re in another godforsaken piece-of-shit town for a case which turned out to be a bust, and I am sorry about that. I know we’ve had two drinks each, which is enough for me to lower my inhibitions, but definitely nowhere near enough to make me do something rash or impulsive.”

Mulder squeezes her knee again and she looks down at his hand and has to wonder at how small she looks underneath the spread of his fingers.

“Most of all, Scully, I know that I’ve been meaning to say that for a while.”

She shakes her head almost imperceptibly and sits perfectly still, the only thing she can feel is the heat radiating from his skin on her stockinged leg. Mulder stares at the top of her head and recognises her immobility as reluctance, as if she’s weighting how to let him down easily without ruining their partnership. He tries to swallow and feels the familiar sting in his nose when he thinks he’s going to cry.

She senses how he stiffens slightly, his fingers releasing their grip on her knee, and she can hear the hurt and embarrassment heavy in his voice when he asks, 

“She loves me not?”

Her chest feels tight, her throat thick. She has felt like this a couple of times, in different degrees. Once, when her father surprised them, arriving unannounced to their house on Christmas Eve when they thought he’d be away at sea. When the first boy she ever liked ran his fingers through her hair after he had kissed her awkwardly, her very first time. The time she had been given her badge and looked in awe at the bold blue letters inside.

During these moments she has always been surprised at how full a person can feel, how brimmed with emotion. She doesn’t look up. She places her hand over his and squeezes it lightly.

“Mulder…” she starts.

He jerks with her touch and starts to remove his hand, and she doesn’t need to see his face to know that he is blinking back tears. Scully catches his wrist between her thumb and forefinger and holds him in place.

Her whisper is barely loud enough for him to hear.

"She loves you.”

His hand freezes above her knees and she slips her fingers between his. When she looks up, his smile mirrors her own.


	3. Chapter 3

And then there was darkness.   

“Goddammitfuck” the voice of the bartender startles both of them, and their hands unclasp and reach towards their respective holsters only to quickly relax.

The shadow of the bartender moves towards them from behind the bar and they hear his startling baritone state, “I shoulda knew this here was gonna happen.“  

"And what is here happening exactly?” Mulder asks from within the gloom and feels Scully swat him on the knee for being rude. 

"Shitty electrician,“ the man says simply and moves out of the bar towards the door. "Y'all are welcome to stay here, but the fans are off and there ain’t no phone. I gotta drive next town over, ‘cause I’ll be damned if I let Harley touch m'wires again.”

Scully and Mulder gape at the outline of him as he reaches for the door. “Keep a look out on the place. No more margaritas, blender being dead and all, but y'all are welcome to the beers. I’ll put ‘em on yer tab with them other drinks when I git back in about an hour”

With that he pulls the handle and walks out, the bar door swinging shut behind him. They sit stock still and almost alarmed as they hear the crunch of the man’s footsteps on the gravel, and the roar of his truck. Suddenly he’s gone and they’re surrounded by the dim light from a streetlamp coming through the windows and the quiet sound of their own breathing.

Mulder’s voice is low and sultry and closer than she expected. “So, Scully. What do you want to do now? We have eight hours to kill before our flight back.” he drawls slowly and she jumps slightly when she feels his hand back on her knee, squeezing.

Without the fan, the heat they’d been feeling all evening is now rapidly blanketing them with a sheen of sweat, and her thighs are wet against the hard wood of the stool. She struggles to breathe from the humidity and senses how her hair is starting to curl. She shifts, somewhat uncomfortably, and whispers back, “I want to sit on a booth next to an open window, have a beer, and then go back to the motel to have a shower.”

“I like the sound of all of those ideas,” he utters softly and takes his hand off her knee to help her off the high stool and lead her to the booth closest to the window and furthest from the door.

The sweat is starting to pour off him and when he touches the small of her back to guide her, he feels moisture there, and the image of her body, lithe and slippery and slapping against him, sends a jolt to his groin that makes his breath take a sharp turn towards ragged.

She thinks he’s going to take the seat in front of her but he slides into the same booth side after her. While she settles, he leans over her to open the window and let some air in, and the heat of him swims over her in waves.

She can smell the wet musk of him and inhales him subtly. He sets one foot on the faux vinyl and reaches up. The front of his work trousers brush against her shoulder lightly and she realises that what touched her was his half-hardened cock. She feels pressure build up between her legs and squeezes her thighs to relieve some of it. Mulder sits back, takes off his already loosened tie, and sets it on the table.

“Is that better?” he asks close to her ear. She closes her eyes and thinks back on the name of a strange-sounding lake.

“It’s just as warm, Mulder” she says, “but at least it’s fresh air,” She inhales deeply and tilts her head. “I think it’s going to rain.” She licks the salty sweat that is pooling above her upper lip and feels him watching her.

“Is this a Navy brat trick?” he says as he slips his arm around her shoulders, and she can feel him smiling at her.

“Maybe. We’ll find out.” she retorts, although she’s certain that she’s right. It is indeed a Navy brat trick.

“What else are we going to find out tonight, Scully?”

Her eyebrows shoot towards the ceiling. He’s gutsy tonight, she thinks to herself. Tequila is definitely his drink. Or not. We’ll see.

“I can’t see you, Mulder. Not really,” and she states the obvious in a soft voice, as if she was telling him a secret.

He understands. If they’re going to do this they need to be able to see each other. Yet, the lamplight is enough to show him that there’s a drop of sweat trickling down her chest into the space between her breasts. Her top buttons are undone, but she still looks far too dressed for his liking.

“You’ve always been a great observer, Scully. And I think you’re right. Some things should be done in the light. But some things,” he mumbles as his fingers trace up her thigh and stop right below her hip, “Some things feel safer in the dark.”

She opens her mouth in a soft, sharp intake of breath as he spreads his fingers over her hip, as he leans towards her and licks her lower lip before catching it between his own. Her swift inhale only invites him to slip his tongue into her mouth to touch hers.He leans back and grins, his teeth bright in the gloom of the bar.

“This isn’t what I had in mind for our first date, Scully,” he admits. “I always pictured something a little fancier, something that felt more adult than necking in a corner booth.”

She smiles to herself and snakes her hand towards his torso, touching his chest and the muscle underneath. “So what do you want to do?” she murmurs, mostly to his neck than his face and surprised at her forwardness.

“Oh, I can do adult another day.” he chortles and shocks her by bringing a hand to cup her breast and squeezes it gently. “Right now I want us to pretend we’re in the back of my daddy’s pick-up truck.”

The groan comes deep from her throat as he thumbs her nipple through her shirt and he pins her against the wall of the booth for another slow, burning kiss, their bodies warm and wet against each other.

He pants as he nuzzles his nose against her neck. “This is nice,” he whispers while he traces circles on her ribcage next to her breast. She closes her eyes, smiles into his hair and scratches his back lightly with her nails.

“Is this what you did growing up, Mulder? Took girls for a ride in your dad’s car and then made out with them in the backseat until you hit curfew?”

He traces his tongue up her neck and catches her earlobe between his lips and she stifles a moan. “I didn’t get much action in high school, Scully. I was quiet and bookish and girls thought I was weird. I did get to third base on prom, though.” he mutters into her ear. His hands move slowly towards her stomach, inching their way down.

“Oh?” she asks, more of an exhale than a question.

“Sylvia Hatterson. Cute little science nerd, had one too many sips of peach schnapps and told me she’d had a crush on me since freshmen year.” He moves her until her hips are pressed against the corner of the booth and her knees are facing him. She can feel the sweat pooling on her lower back and between her breasts and heat radiates from him like a furnace. He feels like the sun.

“We kissed,” he mumbles while nibbling her jaw, “just like this.”  
He takes her hand gently and rubs it with his thumb. “And then she took my hand, like this, and put it here,” he murmurs into her collarbone as he places her hand between her legs.

“Mulder!” she gasps despite the fact that he’s not the one touching her. He chortles and the vibrations rumble across her breastbone, which is covered with drops of moisture. 

“It used to be Fox back then,” and he can’t help but say the name without a hint of disdain.

“So, do you have a predilection for science nerds?” she asks shyly, unable to look up at his silhouette in the half shadow of the streetlight outside. He reaches for her head and tugs her hair gently but firmly and stares down into her eyes. She feels her jaw slacken as he kisses her roughly, her hand caught between her body and the tilt of his.

“One science nerd in particular, Scully. Singular,” he answers simply, kissing her temple and tasting the salt of her there. 

“Did you like tall, awkward bookish boys growing up?” he murmurs into her mouth as she kisses him back with a half-smile.

She pushes him back slightly to answer. “No. I unfortunately wasn’t the greatest decision-maker as a teenager when it came to men.” She sighs sheepishly thinking back on Marcus, prom and pumper trucks.

“Boys,” he corrects.

“Boys,” she agrees and licks the hollow of his throat. “I like them now.” she confesses and she strokes the place where his heart is, rubbing his nipple in the process.

“Tall, awkward, bookish boys?” he questions her teasingly.

“Men.” she corrects him. “Who hunt down government conspiracies and get mauled over the Truth with a capital T. They like the New York Knicks, tasting evidence despite knowing better, and have an obvious oral fixation.”

He whispers, “They?”

“He,” she answers and touches her nose to his.

Her hand slides down his torso, his shirt sticks to his skin as her fingers trace the muscle and sinew beneath. They stop at his thigh, where she feels him twitch and looks at the hard-on that has evolved from half-mast to marble hard. 

He pulls her roughly towards him and hisses in her ear.“Do you want to feel what this obvious oral fixation has taught me over the years?” and the gruff timber of lust in his voice sends a pool of desire to her centre. She is wet from the inside out, her hair starting to stick to the back of her neck, drops of sweat are steadily trickling down her body.

Suddenly, out of nowhere, he is down on his knees and she can feel him between her legs working his way up her skirt.

“Mulder!” she yelps and he pauses. He takes his head out from underneath her skirt, puts his chin on her lap and looks up at her, impish and puppy-eyed.

“You’re right, Scully. This isn’t an airport Chili’s” he sighs and rises carefully from underneath the table to sit back on the booth seat next to her.

“What?” she knits her eyebrows in confusion and he laughs and shakes his head. 

“I’ll explain some other time.”

They both sit in silence for a moment, catching their breaths, hearts pounding. Thunder claps loudly outside making them both jump and he takes her hand, turns it palm up and kisses it.“I always believed you were part-psychic.” he teases and chuckles as she uses her fingers to playfully slap his scruffy cheek while his lips are still on her hand.

The room is illuminated by a flash of lightning and they can see each other clearly for a split second before thunder booms and makes the window rattle. 

“It’s always science, Mulder,” and after a beat, “It’s going to be a good one,” she says just as the sky cracks and it beings to pour.

He laces his fingers with hers and wonders, “I didn’t make out in the back of a car growing up. Is there something you didn’t get to do when you were growing up?”

When she looks at him her smile is full-mouthed and delighted.“I’ve never been kissed under the rain.” she hints.

He gives her a wide smile of his own and laughs, “Well shit, Scully, lets get out of this joint.”

He stands up and pulls her out of the booth while tossing some bills on the bar table. Still holding her hand he takes her outside. The water storms down upon them and they both stare at each other, grinning under the pour. She knows he’s thinking back on the same moment that she is. When they were both out in the field together for the first time, laughing hysterically and soaking wet in the middle of a cemetary.

What she doesn’t know, and he wants to tell her soon enough, is that it was there in that cemetery in Oregon where he began to fall in love with her. His chest feels tight when he cups her face and kisses her deeply, his eyes water underneath closed lids.

She kisses back and is thankful for the storm. It helps disguise the tears on her own face being swept away, along with the sweat, by the falling rain and the kisses from the man in front of her. They face each other in the rain grinning like idiots. The kiss was still lingering on their lips and rain was dripping down Mulder’s nose, making Scully’s eyes crinkle with tenderness. She runs her tongue where his has just been and she feels her stomach flutter with a teenage excitement she thought she’d outgrown.

Mulder’s eyebrow is cocked when he asks, “Shower?”

In turn, she raises both of her eyebrows back, although not because she’s surprised at his forwardness. He continues, “You said before that you wanted to sit at the booth and drink a beer. You just got kissed in the rain. You also mentioned wanting to take a shower.”

She squeezes his arm and opens her mouth to speak when he stops her by saying, “I’m not trying to be presumptuous. I’m just running through your wish list. We can do like that time when you took a shower and then showed up at my door terrified of mosquito bites and I told you a sad, sad bedtime story after you stripped in front of me.”

She tries to look indignant as she argues that she wasn’t “terrified” and that she didn’t know that they were mosquito bites at the time and that she hadn’t “stripped”, but her hair is plastered against her head and she can’t purse her lips from smiling. “Mulder, how many sad, sad bedtime stories can one man even have?” 

He laces his hands with hers and leads her leisurely towards the motel. “Oh Scully, you have no idea,” he breathes as they step on the puddles forming around them. “Let me spin you the tale of a grown-ass G-man whose only source of female companionship were countless videotapes that weren’t really his, overpriced nighttime conversations with strangers over the phone and his best friend all the way across town or on the other side of the wall of shitty motel rooms.” He talks like he’s about to embark on a ghost story while whittling a spoon in the front porch of middle of nowhere. “Did you know that the distance between Georgetown and Alexandria is equal to the distance between adjoining doors of motel rooms?

“I don’t think that’s accurate, Mulder.”

He didn’t have to explain that this is accurate when the distance you want to cross can’t be measured in inches or in miles. She knew. She had made the same measurement. 

“Well then Scully, let me tell you about the times this sad, government sap would have the TV on mute, head propped up against pillows trying to hear if you were awake on the other side. That when you were in the shower, I’d wonder what state of undress you were in before you turned the water on. If you took your socks on first or last or somewhere in between.”

She felt herself tighten the grip on his hand as they approached the door to her room. Taking a deep breath, she turns to look up at him as she fumbles around her pocket for the key. She sets her jaw and stares at his soaking wet work shirt clinging to his body, the lines of his body marked clearly underneath. Her voice is steady when she asks.

“Would you like to find out?” 

Her voice arches like her eyebrow does when feeling skeptical. This time, she feels desbelief at the fact that the words uttered have came out of her own mouth. 

She can’t look at his face, but he can feel him mouth her name. 

“Are you sure?” he breathes, and she can also feel his desire to kick himself for asking. 

“Mulder, I’m not making any promises, but we can make a start by satisfying a long-standing curiousity of yours. Come in. You can dry yourself off, and you can keep me company in the bathroom while you resume this pathetic story of yours.”

The door opens and they walk inside into the gloom. Neither move to turn on the light, and in the half-shadow of the room she hears him whisper in wonder, 

“You want me to watch you shower, Scully?”

She smiles in the darkness and guides him inside. “Let’s start with undressing.”


	4. Chapter 4

He squeezes her hand when he stops short in the middle of the room. 

"Scully… I can’t.”

The room is warm, but not sweltering like the bar had been and yet she’s suddenly chilled. Her face and her heart plummet and the rejection produces in her a sense of shame and embarrassment that she hasn’t felt in years. She drops his hand like it’s dirty and steps back in the gloom away from him. She wants to speak but doesn’t know what to say.

“Scully, what I mean is that I just can’t watch you shower. I can’t just leave it at that. You’re already killing me. I think I’ll be dead before that skirt hits the floor.”

He steps towards her and tilts her chin up with the crook of his index finger to see relief written in the side of her face not hidden in the black. The way the light comes into the room illuminates her like a film noir heroine and he grins at the fact that he is the protagonist of his own detective story, the mystery of the hidden body about to be unveiled. 

“I think…. I think it’s fitting that our first time together is in a motel room, on the road,” she starts nervously. “I, I’ve thought about it. Not just now, but before as well just like you, and… I don’t want the distance of adjoining doors anymore. I feel you in everything I do, Mulder, you’ve become such an essential part of my life, even though I didn’t want to admit it. And I love you. It’s time for you to see me.”

“Scully I do see you,” he begins but she cuts him off grinning, her smile glinting in the black with unbridled delight. 

“Naked, Mulder. It’s time for you to see my naked.”

She presses herself against his body, and despite how her clothes are cold from the rain she can feel the heat of him against her breasts. She takes the edge of his jawbone between her teeth and bites softly and feels the groan rumble in the back of his throat like the rumble of thunder outside. His hand snakes up her back to tighten at the nape of her neck, his fingers combing up into her hair, sending a shot of pleasure down her spine. 

“Let’s get you out of these wet clothes,"he murmurs into her ear and he holds her away at arms length to look at the way her shirt is sticking to the curve of her breasts, her breath coming out in small heaves making her chest swell towards him. He can see her nipples are hard against the fabric and unconsciously nibbles at his own pouting lower lip.

He catches her eye and holds the gaze while he works at her buttons with steadfast fingers, exposing a black cotton bra underneath. He gently pushes the blouse over her shoulders to the floor and studies her and wishes for more light. Yet she is beautiful in darkness like she is beautiful under the harsh glare of autopsy lighting. The dimness shades-in her ribs and the curve of her waist, the swell of her breasts. She looks soft and tight and he smiles at the memory and the absence of robes, mosquito bites and plain, white underwear. 

He moves forward to unclasp her, thrilled at the idea of finding out what colour her nipples are in the twilight. She catches his wrist, more roughly than she intended. "Let’s take turns,” she pleads, and like sips from their margaritas, like stripping daisies from their petals, they unzip and unbuckle each other while dropping their clothing and inhibition on the dark motel floor. 

When they’re standing naked in front of each other they both know that the last of their clothes was a “He/She loves me.” They had both been counting silently.

They stare at each other in the half-light, taking their bodies in. Scully touches him first, tentatively, her index finger travelling up from the ridge above his bellybutton, slowly laying more fingers on him until her palm is pressed against the middle of his chest, listening to the strong beat underneath. She looks down and watches how his stiff cock twitches at the sensation and she feels herself get wet, and shivers at the thought of him shoving himself inside her.

He places his own hand over hers, engulfing it and then takes it towards his mouth where he plants a long kiss in the palm of her hand. With that, she moves closer, raises her other hand and cups his face to touch his lips with hers. 

When she opens her mouth to welcome his tongue, he grabs her by the waist and pulls her against him and she can feel his hardness hot and silky pressed between them against her stomach. They’ve both begun to sweat under the heat again and she feels a trickle of moisture roll down the crevasse of her spine and stop at the bottom of her tailbone, where Mulder’s thumb swipes it away. She sucks in her breath as she watches him place his thumb over his parted lips and lick at her sweat. She watches his hand glistening with his saliva and her sweat move towards her nipple, painful and waiting, and as soon as he rolls it between his thumb and forefinger she groans and tugs him towards the bed.

Yet he’s the one that pushes her gently, and she falls to sit on the edge. Before she can realise what is happening, she’s finding out just how practiced his tongue is and feeling sorry for Sylvia Hatterson, who should’ve led his tongue between her legs, instead of his fingers. He’s lapping at her thirstily and using his tongue to swipe away at her the way she had seen him clean the salt off the rim of his drink. She immediately changes her mind when she feels a strong, inquisitive finger pry against her soaking wet pussy.

He moans gruffly against her clit and she grips at his hair with her hand like riding reins, while supporting herself with the other, leans back and parts her legs wider for him. He grabs at her thighs and places them on his shoulders, deepening the contact on her with his mouth and one finger turns into two. She sighs a long, shaky hiss and he stops, only to look up at her in wonder and to inform her, breathlessly, that she’s so, so fucking wet.

“Fuck the X files. I want to do this forever instead,” he murmurs into her thigh and she rolls her eyes with humour and desire. He continues unshelling her with his tongue until she yanks him up towards her face so that she can suck on it and taste herself.

She murmurs into his mouth, “I taste like…”

“like a sweet margarita,” he finishes for her. He licks his lower lip and makes his way down to the hollow of her throat. She can feel him smile against the bow of her clavicle when he reaches it. She can sense that he is working his way down to her wet slit again and wants to let him but she stops him instead. He gives a disappointed whimper and she runs her hand over his chest to appease him, playing with the sparse hair there and asks him,

“Remember at the bar, when I told you that there was a myriad of things that I didn’t know?”

“I do. Are you trying to tell me you’ve never done this before?” he murmurs huskily.

“We can play that game another time, Mulder.” she whispers coquettishly while she takes his hardness in her hand and squeezes.

“Holy shit, Scully,” he pleads.

“Come lie down with me,” she instructs and they both settle on the bed facing each other, legs intertwined, his hand stroking her arm and back, awestruck by how a woman so tough can have such soft skin. They’re both slick with sweat and the remnants of rain and he feels how she is grinding her hips in slow circles only to realise he is doing the same. She touches her nose to his and quickly licks his upper lip. “

Mulder, this is not part of the millions of things that I do not know.” 

She pushes him onto his back while clambering down so that her mouth lies on his right hipbone and her thumb caresses his left. His erection brushes the side of her face, hot and hard and she rubs her cheek against it like a cat.

“Oh my god, Scully,” and he stops short when she takes him in her mouth. She does not tease him, doesn’t stay at the head or lick lazy circles with a practised tongue. The minute he’s between her lips she takes him to the hilt and he can feel the tip of him touching the back of her throat, her mouth at the very base of him. 

He half-grunts half cries out while he feels a purr of pleasure come out of her while her mouth is full of his cock. She’s fucking him with her lips, mercilessly and expertly and he’s trying not to buck her off of him, but can feel that he’s losing control of his movements and feeling of his feet. Her lips are lush and warm and she looks up at him, her eyes dark with desire and laughter. She runs a finger down his balls towards his perineum. He is going to come.

“Fuck, stop. You need to stop. Jesus fucking christ.”

She nudges his dick with her nose and looks up at him playfully.“Scully…” he starts but again doesn’t get a chance to continue because she’s suddenly poised above him, his dick touching the base of her and he can feel the juices of her soaking his tip. He can’t ask her to stop again. He needs to be inside of her. He grabs her hips tightly and stills her above him, his fingers bruising her skin. By the way she looks at his hands digging at her flesh, he realises that she likes his rough grip, very very much. 

She decides to lower herself on him the moment he decides to thrust into her and their joint bodies crash into each other. She squeals throatily with the feeling of him hitting her cervix and he grunts at just how tight she is, how hot and wet.

“Touch me, Mulder” she sighs and he feels his balls tighten. He watches how she uses her feet to push herself off him towards his tip and ride him, he watches how he enters and exits her, soaked with her juices, while he uses his thumb to circle her swollen clit. She’s losing momentum with the extra stimulus and he can tell. 

Without breaking contact he flips them so that she’s underneath and pulls one of her legs over his arm, deepening his thrusts while his hand still plays where their bodies join.

“Watch me, Scully. Show me,” he groans and she places her fingers over his and guides them while she writhes underneath, struggling to keep her eyes open and look at his parted lips. She can feel how she’s dripping every time he pulls back. 

She feels the pulse of her heartbeat and the deep pound of his thrusts between her legs.The only sound in the room is the sound of their ragged breathing and the wet, sweaty slap of their bodies rhythmically moving against each other.

He leaves her to touch herself and grabs at her ass with both hands to slam into her. The new angle breaks her and she feels her release pour out of her in bursts and onto the bedspread. 

Mulder swears angrily at a god he doesn’t believe in and grabs hold of the headboard with one hand. He thrusts into her four more times, roughly, her muscles contracting around him, before he moans, long and hard, and empties himself inside her while she milks him dry.

They’re silent for a while in the semi-darkness, grinning idiotically at the ceiling while listening to the other recover their breath. He reaches for her hand and holds it tightly.

“Mulder,” he hears her say softly, still panting slightly.

“Yeah, Scully?”

“Can we get margaritas every time it’s not an X-File?” she giggles and squeezes his fingers playfully.

He chuckles and thinks about how he wants to bring daisies to the basement office. He wonders if Scully will take him in her mouth again there. Whether Scully has a blender, and what she would think if he arrives at her doorstep one of these days with a bottle of tequila, a bag full of limes, and a bouquet of a flower that will never signify chastity and innocence ever again. 

He guffaws at the thought and at her question. 

“Absolutely.”


End file.
